


guess i'll get dressed and do the town

by cerebella



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 02:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3750973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerebella/pseuds/cerebella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I'll find some crowded avenue, though it will be empty without you.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	guess i'll get dressed and do the town

**Author's Note:**

> andy williams looks pretty good in eyeshadow and i used too many adverbs

"You think I'm shallow," Spy slurs, swaying around the hotel room. He's been lush for the past hour. And the wine never helps, not the fancy vintage he insists on buying for the two of them before drowning himself in raspberry notes and rich nectar.

"I think you're awful," Sniper says amusedly, reclining lazily on the bed, struggling with lighting a cigarette. French booze truly is something else.  
  
"Fuck you," Spy groans, pressing two fingers to his temple, leaning haphazardly against the wall. He doesn't wear that stupid mask outside of work, but he's still hard to recognize after all these months together. Sniper could be the only other person in the room and he'd still have trouble recognizing his lover. There's something strange about Spy's face. Sniper doesn't care to wonder about what it is.

"I keep trying... I keep trying to make you love me! But you don't care, you don't care about anything except _piss_  and wild animals, oh, lord, I don't know, maybe you really do only want a quick fuck with some honeyed woman--"

"Go to fucking _bed_ , Spy," Sniper growls, wiping his face. He gets smoke in his mouth and he swears, coughing. He doesn't even understand french _cigarettes_. Fuck him.  
  
"Stop treating me like an idiot. I'm not a child. I have killed many, oh, lord, so many people. I've killed so many people!" Spy gasps in horror, slumping in one of the stuffed armchairs on the far side of the room, still waving around that cocktail between his ring and middle fingers. His eyes narrow and his lips stuck in some hating grimace. Sniper's almost done with him, ready to fly out of this ridiculous wreck of a continent and back to the badlands, where he can drink cheap and sleep cheap and sit in the woods without someone telling him he's destroying all the expensive imported Arabian grass, or whatever it is the staff had been complaining about at the park Spy had dragged him to yesterday.

Spy's been fuming all day, downing glass after glass of wine they can't afford before checking into every five star hotel in the vicinity just so they can fuck in one of the bathtubs before starting up again about Spy's friends and family, of which there are now little, thanks to their little adventures.  
  
"Why do you hate me so much? Why are you here?" Spy asks, exasperated. "You despise everything I show you. You loathe me. I don't understand why you're still here. Sniper. Please."  
  
It's true, Sniper's never been keen about France or expensive wine or dancing in bars to real bands, with real violins and real people watching. He likes his dances--well, he doesn't. He doesn't like dances.  
  
"I don't _hate_  you, for god's sake. I just hate that god awful fucking sister of yours--"

"Antoinette? Don't you fucking talk about my family like that, you have no idea how resourceful she is. She is diligent and trying, and I am proud to call her my sister," the man utters, glaring Sniper down with the hatred of a hundred hounds.  
  
"Bloody hell, I'm sure you do, but she hates me too, I can't lay a fucking finger on you when she's around, she thinks I'm going fucking hit you or bend you over and make you call me daddy," Sniper rolls his eyes, knocking his head back. Fuck. Antoinette, that woman is a piece of work.

"Because all you do is grumble and grunt and groan, and she thinks you're a crazed gunman!"

"That's her problem!" Sniper yells suddenly, folding his arms. He can't hear those words out of Spy's mouth, jesus christ, the first time they met was with Spy's blade buried in his back. Blood was pouring out of his mouth and his chin bruised to hell while he shrieked on his knuckles and his knees. He's still trying to convince his parents he does a little more than run around with a pistol in each hand, screaming bloody murder and stabbing every living thing in sight. That might be the goal, but that's not what takes place. Usually.

Spy marches over to him, collapsing on the bed, completely abandoning any prospect of keeping the wine in his glass, and the glass shatters to the floor.  
  
Sniper snorts at the sight of Spy's hair ruffled against the pillow they've both been drooling on for the past two days together, Spy's lashes wet and his cheeks flushed. His best friend is an idiot. His boyfriend looks ... pretty.  
  
And Spy seems to have tired of all these heated arguments, and after a few minutes of surprisingly comfortable silence, Spy moves up to hold him.

"Oh my god," Spy mumbles into his chest.  
  
"Love?" Sniper murmurs, glad to be rid of all the loud ruckus.  
  
"I am so _drunk_ , cher," Spy laughs quietly to himself.  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
"I am sorry," Spy groans, rubbing his eyes. "Let me make it up to you," he grins wide and wicked.  
  
Sniper looks to the bedside table. It's hard to look at spy sometimes. Spy makes no work of unbuttoning Sniper's collar, sucking teeth marks against the ridge of his collarbone, fingers toying with the edge of his shirt.  
  
Spy's only just beginning to make headway, sucking on his earlobe when the phone rings.  
  
"Bloody _fuck_ ," Sniper says, as Spy pushes over him to reach for the phone.  
  
"'ello?" Spy asks thickly, accent coming through the cabernet. "Oh." Spy hiccups. Oh indeed, fucking God, they're both too drunk for this. And Sniper's only had two drinks.

"I am not. Well. Okay. Yes, I am."  
  
"Smooth," Sniper mutters under his breath. Spy slaps his chest lightly, before returning to the call.  
  
"Per'aps you should call at another time."  
  
A pause. "I am _not_ , Antoinette," Spy frowns. There's a slick of smile growing on Spy's face. Sniper has never hated him more.  
  
He worms his way away from Spy, only to plant himself between the frenchman's legs. If he's going to piss off Antoinette, he might as well have some fun while doing it.  
  
Spy glares down at him from where he's leaning over the phone, brows furrowed, murmuring and nodding quietly as he speaks. Sniper tugs at the rich leather of his lover's belt, pulling it away with little haste before shimmying off the man's pants. Spy hisses at him, pushing the phone away for a few brief moments but accepting the turns of events.  
  
Sniper thinks the man is probably starved for attention. It's not like there hasn't been plenty of (taken) opportunity to touch, but he admits he hasn't been into it much.  
  
When the pants are on the floor, he sighs slowly, taking in the smooth glide of Spy's legs before pressing a kiss to the inside of the man's knee. Spy hums, quickly covering it up as something thoughtful.  
  
"I don't know if we'll have time before the flight..." Spy's grown noticeably quiet.  
  
And Sniper doesn't care for much semantics, nosing along the man's legs. Foreplay is fun, but Spy won't cry into the phone a hundred praises, much to Antoinette's inevitable dismay if he's only going to kiss the man's knees.  
  
He presses his mouth to the Spy's boxers, fingers toying with the waistband, and he massages the swell with his lips.  
  
And them's the breaks, he smiles, when Spy lets out a little muff of mumbling about his back. Yeah, well, fuck Spy's back. The man's been dancing all day long. It may be a pretty sight, but you have to get sore eventually.  
  
He lets himself drool, sucking on the thankfully thin fabric of Spook's underwear.  
  
He props himself up on one elbow, wrapping one arm around Spy's waist as he kisses the man's stomach. He cups Spy's crotch with heavy fingers, lapping at the little paunch that's grown on the man's belly during the last few years.  
  
Spy holds the phone a few inches away for a moment, breathing in something hazy and sweet, with his eyes lidded and his mouth hanging agape ever so slightly.  
  
It's more fun like this, when they're pissing someone off. He can hear Antoinette starting to go off on the other end of the line, and he grins, tugging on the edge of Spy's underwear.  
  
Precome is starting to dampen the front of the man's underwear, and something swells with pride in Sniper's belly.  
  
He tug it down a little, and despite the obvious embarrassment, Spy lifts his waist up to allow it. He has the man wrapped around his little finger. Spy's bare cock is beginning to harden: well, they are getting on in their age. It'll take a little more than just teasing.  
  
He lowers himself again, pressing a kiss to the crown of the man's cock, and Spy sighs again, covering his eyes with one free hand. Sniper loves to ruffle the man's feathers like this--Spy's never been bold enough to suggest something so public, especially with someone as intimate as his sister. He licks up the man's cock, not quite to the base, the flat of his tongue hot and light. Spy sinks down into the bed, flushed and anxious, but there's still been no call for halt.  
  
Always somewhat impatient with this kind of thing, he takes the tip into his mouth, tongue taping the edges of the head as Spy rambles on about the food and the drink and the bedsheets, yes, the bedsheets indeed are something to behold. Sniper doesn't know much about his french, but he knows it doesn't usually sound so sloppy. Lord, this woman really tries.  
  
He bobs his head up and down, rolling his tongue back and forth on the underside, and Spy uses his free hand to first grab at his own thigh before thrusting angry fingers through Sniper's hair, nails raking against Sniper's scalp.  
  
If nothing else, it's more fun than sitting around a cherry wood table, with brandy and playing cards that don't even make sense.  
  
"Antoinette--someone is at the door, perhaps--no, I keep telling you, he's out. He's not here. He went to buy... cigarettes. You know how he is."  
  
Sniper bites down ever so slightly. Of course Spy would make a jab at him to get on her side again. Spy flinches and bears his teeth at him.  
  
Much to Sniper's disappointment, Spy mutters something about a doorbell, and puts the phone back in its cradle after wishing her a good evening. There's a strange noise out of Spy, like the man doesn't know whether to be angry or aroused or thankful or furious. Sniper pauses, coming off with a rather unattractive noise.  
  
"How dare you," Spy says drily, rubbing his face. "I almost came talking to my _sister_. I hate you," Spy says before smiling faintly.  
  
"I'm sorry. She's not that bad, I reckon, if only we could get a few words in before she thinks I'm some creepy madman."  
  
"Why are you still talking? I think you had a job. You don't get to do that to me and then just _stop_."  
  
Sniper's surprised, blown away for a moment before he laughs, shaking his head.  
  
"I--I don't know if I can. Maybe. Reckon I got a thing for sucking men off when they're on the phone with family?"  
  
"Good lord," Spy groans, palming his face.

"Make it up to me," Spy insists, lying back, finally flat against the bed with his arms spread, hooking his legs around Sniper's neck and pulling him forward. "Have some _fun_ , cher," he smiles.

Sniper rolls his eyes, planting his hands on either side of Spy's torso before lowering himself down to kiss the man. Spy groans, spreading his legs so he can wrap them around his lover's waist, underwear still damp and stretched taut around his ankles. Spy rolls his hips upwards, bare cock rubbing against Sniper's stomach, and he moans finally, _freely_ , gripping Sniper's biceps. Sniper grunts, leaving a wet trail of kisses on his neck, grinding down for some much-needed friction.

Spy still feels heady, almost on the brink of passing out what with a full day of drinking combined with a rough hand on his dick, cock smeared with pre-come and neck slick with kisses, letting out soft charges of electric breath and wounded moans while Sniper works at him, tugging and pulling in rhythm with his breathing. The Australian is surprisingly quiet, compensated for by Spy's muffled groans and frustrations.

Spy bucks his hips, on edge, and lets out a broken moan and Sniper suddenly picks up the pace, Spy lifting his waist and cursing as he hitches his legs up, ankles rubbing against Sniper's shoulder blades as he comes, grabbing the sheets with an unforgiving grip.

Spy is only just beginning to recover when Sniper comes on his chest with a grunt.

"Oh, good Lord," Spy snaps, glaring up at Sniper as he props himself up on one elbow. "You could have warned me."

" _Now_ you want a warning?" Sniper gasps, collapsing next to him. "Bloody hell. You think Antoinette might leave us alone now?"

"I despise you." Spy grumbles.

"Y'keep saying that, and I keep not believin' you," Sniper noses the back of his neck.

"Let me sleep!" Spy shouts.

"Stop yelling!"

"You're yelling!"

Sniper shoves him off the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> in case you didn't guess lyrics were from 'can't get used to losing you' which came out conveniently in '63


End file.
